


Pest Control

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Reddit Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26102326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Prompt: Gaslight Fantasy, Gen, Mild SwearingPrompt: Strange things have been happening in the old manor house, ever since an odd/ancient object was removed from the garden.





	Pest Control

Margaret frowned at her formerly prized Sweet Williams. A large number of the delicate, pale-purple petals had been ripped out and one handsome stalk was bent almost to the ground, the blooming head smushed against the roughly hewn stepstones. A sorry sight, indeed.

“What a shame,” the young woman said aloud in her frustration. “And in the midst of your bloom as well!” 

Probably the work of some neighbours’ children - she’d always found them to be such rascals, running and screaming about. Not that she minded, most times, but they should’ve told her at least! A ball, Margaret assumed, shaking her head. Roughhousing around kicking that dratted thing, and now look at what they had done!

Well, no use crying over it. She adjusted her skirts as she lowered down, the habit ingrained from her earliest childhood days. 

Margaret Ainsworth might be a scandalous woman in many ways, but it should never be said that she didn’t know how to dress properly. It left her on good enough grounds with her new neighbours, who were well-accustomed to the scandals of Ainsworth’ women. 

Her aunt, whose house she’d inherited only a few months ago, had lived in this townhouse for quite some decades, with all her sisters and numerous nieces visiting on the regular. Before that, many more generations of scandalous Ainsworth’ women had called this place home.

With a deft hand and great economy of motion, she set about cutting off the damaged stalks. Roughly half of the pretty clusters had to go, but some of them could still be used for an arrangement. Her cousin would be coming over in just a few days for a visit and the fragrance of the flowers was very agreeable with the sort of tea she had in mind to serve.

~~~

Agathe Ainsworth - Aunt Aggy to her beloved nieces - had always been the talk of the town. 

Margaret, on the other hand, favoured a bit of privacy. Whilst not reclusive by any means, the young woman’s favourite pastimes were her books, her knittings, and her flowers. Though an argument could be made for the social nature of knitting, the other two were of a more solitary nature, which she didn’t mind in the least. 

It worked reasonably well to combat her aunt’s well earned and extensive reputation. Everyone coped differently with being their generation’s spinster. Margaret’s fervent hope was that she, at least, wouldn’t ever cope by singing vulgar songs with the workmen in the town’s nearby pub. Or worse, she thought, with heat tingling up her face; like Great grand-aunt Enid, who’d entertained a fair number of young men during her time.

However, it did seem ever so attractive an option when she entered her garden the next day only to see that this time, someone had gotten to her peonies.

“Oh no!” With a cry, Margaret moved closer, staring at the many mangled heads. 

The beautiful, lush flowers had been planted some decades ago close to the kitchen door, to give some lovely scent for anyone working by the windows. They’d just started to fully bloom, in cream and soft-pink colours, but now they looked as if half-a-dozen cats had gotten into them.

“Not the children, not this time,” she murmured, half-dazed with shock and close to tears at the horrible sight. “But who else? The jinx hasn’t been tripped, nobody came over the fence-”

Margaret stopped short when she saw a flutter of insect wings between the mangled flower heads. Holding her breath, she quickly plucked one of her long, dark hairs and made a loop out of it, whispered words on her lips. Then, with a racing heart, she threw one end of the hair at the small creature moving about.

“Hah!” she called in triumph as the loop took hold. 

Holding the hair between her thumb and index finger, she tugged on it like a leash until the creature came out of hiding. It was a small thing with four arms and two legs and two sets of greenish, near translucent wings, its eyes big and black like an insect’s, the little face drawn into a childish frown as it chittered angrily at her.

“A pixie?” Margaret blinked before grabbing the little beast proper. “You shouldn’t be here! There had never been pixies in this garden and I won’t have it now, ruining my peonies!” 

She pried the hair from around the pixie’s ankle but kept her grip firm so that the thing could not escape. “Have you made a nest, then?”

Peering into the depths of her flowers, she indeed saw a small bedding of flower petals sitting snug between the stalks. Tiny, blue-dotted eggs, five in number, were guarded by a second pixie. “Don’t think I’ll let you breed here even more,” Margaret snapped and grabbed for the second one, but the creature buzzed away with a yelp. “Out of my garden!”

A small, sharp pain pricked her finger. Her grip went lax in surprise and then she shouted when the first pixie wriggled free, diving for the nest. Before Margaret could react or make another snare of her hair, it had grabbed a couple of the eggs, leaving only three behind.

They could be anywhere now. And pixies seldom left any gardens on their own volition. 

“Drat!” Margaret cursed loudly, not caring about any of her neighbours who could hear her. “Why now, of all times?”

~~~

She’d taken the remaining eggs of the clutch with her to dispose of later. Pixies were notorious pests and couldn’t be allowed to settle and breed freely in any respectable garden. 

But where most people fought back with lethal force or hiring reputable hags to lay curses around, Margaret hesitated to do the same. It wasn’t done, killing a magical thing. And she never had needed to, in the past. But how to get rid of them? 

Despite the many books and tomes in her possession, she couldn’t find a single one to help her.

Glaring out of the window, she saw another brilliant flutter in the sweet summer’s sun. One would think that such adorable creatures would do no harm to a pretty garden such as hers, yet there they were, making a mess out of her beautiful astrantia and the hollyhocks she’d just planted the other week.

This wouldn’t do. 

For hours she’d tried to find some solution in Aunt Aggy’s old books. But this wasn’t the only garden she’d thought safe from common pests. Oh, she would never hear the end of it, but ridicule was a prize she was willing to pay, which was why she decided to make a call through her scrying mirror.

“Oh, what a surprise! Hello, Maggy!”

Margaret just barely managed to hold back a wince at the name. Cradling the ornate silver mirror in both hands, she smiled instead. “Hello, sister. Is mother nearby?”

“No time for me, then? I haven’t seen you in months, ever since you moved to Wiltshire. You should visit instead of scrying, or are you that attached already?”

“Isadora,” Margaret said with a frown. “You know it’s not done. If you want to see me so strongly, you ought to come yourself, not the other way round. You’re always welcome, as you know! Now, can you call mother, please?”

Turning up her pretty nose, Isadora smiled with false sweetness. “She’s not here, Maggy.” The smile turned smug. “What is it, then? Ran into a problem, yes? Or do you finally regret taking up the mantle-”

“Good day, then,” Margaret interrupted and cut off the connection, feeling exhausted and quite bitter over her younger sister’s reaction. But no, she wouldn’t dwell on the jealousy. Isadora would have to grow up eventually.

Loud chittering interrupted her brooding. Jumping to her feet, Margaret hurried to the window to look outside. The pair of pixies was still busy with her poor, poor hollyhocks.

A third one, however, was right in front of her, peeking inside with great curiosity only to be gone in a flash when Margaret came too close to the glass panes.

~~~

“Out! Out, begone! Or I will use curses on you lot!” Margaret cried, her voice filling the house and surely her neighbours’ ears as well. 

Running quite ragged, the young woman didn’t care - somehow, a couple of pixies had managed to enter her home to raid the carefully arranged bouquet of flowers she’d made for her cousin’s visit. It was the first visit besides her mother’s after Margaret had come to live here. 

The visit was important, a first sign of acceptance of her new role from her family. Tradition, she knew very well, had to be observed; guests, of course, be hosted well.

So when she found her favourite flower vase shattered on the floor, she felt the last of her restraint leaving her body like a ghost apparition. Left behind was a wild thing of a woman, long black hair aflutter as Margaret hunted the pixies down. An almond sponge rested forgotten in the kitchen, waiting to be cut and layered, paired with scones and homemade rose jam that had yet to be arranged. Tea had been selected days ago, as it would pair well with the food. But the bouquet of flowers, which would’ve provided the complimenting fragrance, had been torn asunder; pieces scattered right onto the floor in a puddle of water.

Margaret didn’t notice when someone let themselves in, watching in silence as she tried to batter the creatures, cursing in all seven languages she knew. Only when she turned, broom wielded and ready to strike, did she see the baffled face of her beloved cousin Betsy at the entrance to the sitting room, purse clutched close, delicate blonde locks arranged artfully around her pretty, round face.

“Margaret!” her cousin exclaimed, and it was enough to fill Margaret with shame that settled hotly on her face. Dropping the broom, she became aware of her rattled appearance. The pixies chittered in mockery, flitting about and pulling at her hair.

“I can’t get them away!” The wail burst out of her before she could hold it in, together with hot tears of frustration. “They’ve already ruined the garden and now they’re ruining our tea and I don’t know why they’ve come and they’re tormenting me!”

With a few brisk steps, Betsy reached her side, taking Margaret’s hands into her own. She was the sweetest of her many cousins, closer yet than her own sister, and was quick to soothe her frayed nerves. Better yet, she had less scruple than Margaret, dealing with the pesky creatures with a flick of flame to scare them off. 

“Stop this crying now, my dear,” Betsy said and led Margaret to the closest chair. “Sit down and take a deep breath. They’re just a few pixies!”

“But look at what they’ve done! My poor rose madders! My loosestrife and meadowsweet! The roses, too and now those flowers! Oh, Betsy, I wanted our tea to be perfect! What a bad omen, I must be the worst keeper to be! Isadora was right-”

“None of that! Your sister’s word ought not to bother you, and you know I won’t care about a bit of a mess. I will make us tea, sod the traditions. None of the old folks are here now. And then we will deal with those pixies.”

~~~

Sweet, kind Betsy. She was her favourite by far, even though Margaret would never just say so. But it was true - Betsy had never had much of a talent in the craft when put to Ainsworth standards, yet she had never needed it as much. Such a clear head, such confidence! All things which Margaret wished she had more of, yet they suited her cousin all the more.

It took Betsy no time to set a cup of tea in front of Margaret before moving to clear the mess. The banished pixies gathered at the windows, peering in and pulling faces. It took Margaret a lot of effort not to hurl her cup at them. Instead,she took a sip from her tea and found that her beloved cousin had added a helping of melissa and valerian that calmed her down a bit.

“I really don’t understand how those pixies could’ve settled in here, Margaret. Have you brought any yourself, perchance?” Betsy asked when she was done cleaning up, sitting beside Margaret with her own tea in hand. 

The sweet smell betrayed a generous dollop of honey.

“I never did. How utterly idiotic, they cannot be tamed and they’re useless for most spells,” Margaret replied. “I’d have put my own enchantments up, but I never thought... well, I never saw any pixies entering before. And now that they’re in, a ward won’t do.”

“No, it won’t,” Betsy said thoughtfully. “But it shouldn’t have happened in the first place! Auntie had a ward stone active, as she did with most common pests and quite a few uncommon ones as well.”

“I didn’t touch any of them,” Margaret assured her quickly, mind whirling. No, she was sure - the beautiful set of crystals and gems were still laid out in the back of the garden, near the herbal beds. She’d known of them, of course, like all of Aunt Aggy’s nieces. “They’re still a full set, agate and csarite, rubellite and jade, moonstone and-”

“Those are the uncommon pests only.” Betsy put down her tea and Margaret found herself caught in her cousin’s bright-blue stare. “Did you move the gnomes?”

“Those ugly things!” Margaret couldn’t help but cry. She’d never understood why Aunt Aggy had ever brought those into the beautiful garden, horridly painted and vulgar as they were. “I put them in the shed, but why are you- no.” She quickly got up, shaking her head. “You can’t mean it. She’d never!”

Now Betsy was laughing, her rosy cheeks only gaining more colour due to her mirth. “Oh, Margaret!” she gasped before pulling her into a quick hug. “You knew her best: of course, she would! Fast, let us set them up proper again. I fear you’ll have to bear with them until you can copy the runes onto more handsome decorations.”

“Blasted gnomes. And to think, I moved them for your visit! I’ve ruined it with my own two hands.”

“Think nothing of it. Just be happy it didn’t happen with Aunt Camilla. Or worse yet, your own sister. Dear Isadora would’ve crowed so loudly, it would’ve brought the attention of half the town to your doorsteps.”

With a shudder, Margaret moved away from the table. “Happy indeed. Please, don’t ever speak of it when we’re done.”

“For you, always,” Betsy said, her smile turning impossibly brighter. “And for your Battenberg cake, of course.”

With that reminder of her neglected cooking still waiting in the kitchen, Margaret cursed more loudly again, hurrying out to the garden shed.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Words:** 2477
> 
> Thank you, **mob** , for proofreading this.


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